Not What It Was, Now As It Is
by BlueEyes White Dragon Sorcerer
Summary: TRHP Harry has the empty diary and decides to join the one who had been trapped, but he must stop anyone who would come after him. After HBP. Five people die, two some people might care about, though neither T nor H. Strangely happy ending. spazz


BlueEyes White Dragon Sorcerer

Disclaimer: You're reading my stuff on FF dot net. Are you really that slow?

AN: Not exactly how I wanted this to turn out, but - hey! I finished something. Aren't you proud of me? T.T

Story start!

Staring at the ink-stained book in his lap, Harry ran a finger over its familiar surface, shivering slightly when he remembered the previous occupant of said book doing the same to him. Basilisk venom being the corrosive substance it is, the book had a hole burned through it, most likely to never work the same way again. _It's ruined beyond repair_, Harry thought. That saddened him.

His encounter with Lucius had not happened how he told his friends. Well, it mostly had, but when Lucius saw that Dobby had caught Harry's sock he had thrown the diary in Harry's face and stormed off, screaming about how 'useless the relic' was and cursing him and his little friends too. Then Dobby had made Lucius trip down the stairs because of him cursing at Harry, causing Lucius to finally shut his mouth and get a move on out of the school.

Now here he was four years later, holding the book that had housed a young version of Voldemort, absolutely bored out of his wits and a tad bit depressed. The summer after his second year had been dominated by him alternately clutching it to his chest desperately and burying it at the bottom of his trunk in anger, the effect of Riddle's betrayal. That was before Sirius Black showed up on the news and Aunt Marge arrived to make his life hell.

When he finally got back among people might recognize Riddle's diary (the Weasleys), he had to leave it where he'd last put it, at the bottom of his trunk covered by Uncle Vernon's lumpy socks, the place that he'd stuffed it in a fit of pique. With the Sirius Black situation and being back at Hogwarts, distracted by all the homework and plots on his life, he'd hardly thought of it Third Year or the following summer, constantly with death thoughts toward Wormtail, happy thoughts of Sirius and a nice house far away from the Dursleys, and worries of Voldemort's next plot on his life.

Fourth year was filled with danger and brain-wracking tasks not to mention the increased homework, but he had briefly taken to sleeping with the diary before Ron started yanking open his curtains without asking. He had re-buried it right before the Third Task and had avoided thinking about it after Voldemort's Resurrection, the pain of betrayal increased by Voldemort's actions and words in the graveyard.

Did it really mean so little? All the conversations between him and Tom and their plans...

Of course, Voldemort wouldn't care. He wouldn't know exactly how similar they were, and not just physically. They are half-bloods without parents and left with abusive muggles. Both had dark hair and green eyes. Harry did hate his muggle relatives, but he couldn't let anyone know, couldn't let them make the connections between him and Tom. If they did, there would be hell to pay and he really did feel like being Kissed by a dementor at any time, much less soon.

Fifth year hadn't helped, at _all_. Umbitch had made it nearly impossible to have any peaceful time to himself and there was, once again, the increased homework load. The issue of Snape's increased hatred toward him because his curiosity got the better of him - again - was another factor. Then when Voldemort had possessed him in the Atrium... There had been a brief (but none-the-less present) burst of surprise before he had been 'driven' from Harry.

Last year - sixth year - was the most nerve-wracking of all, though, between using all his Slytherin wit to side-step any suspicions and trying to figure out what Malfoy was up to. If it had anything to do with Voldemort - of which there was no doubt - then he had wanted in on it, but no! Malfoy _had_ to be a greedy, paranoid prick and keep his "mission" all to himself, not to mention attack him when he had just wanted to help.

The only good thing was that no additional horcruxes had been destroyed and Dumbledore was dead. All he had to do was kill or prevent Hermione and Ron from going after the remaining horcruxes and somehow find a way to talk to Voldemort. That, unfortunately, might be a bit trickier than he hoped and, hopefully, worth it.

Being with Tom - now Voldemort - would be enough if only... Harry curled up around the ruined diary. If only Voldemort would be like the Tom he had known in his second year. Everything would be worth if that were true. All the treachery, all of his blood, sweat, and tears he had shed would be worth it in the end. Granger and Weasley would be there in two days, meaning that now was the time to set the last of his traps. Nothing would stand between him and his goal...

He just missed his Tom so much.

**#Time Shift#**

They had arrived and reacted like good friends should, almost making him doubt his decision, but then he remembered that these two were still good little pawns of the Light. They would react horribly when they found out the truth; they had to go... all of them. So long Harry had waited for the Dursleys' deaths... he was almost giggling in delight - then nearly sobbed when he remembered one of the conversations he had had with Tom. They had plotted many things and several of those being how they would kill their muggle caretakers (his favorite had involved a rusty pair of shears and flesh-eating acid with heavy silencing barriers), but that was obviously not going to happen. One of the reasons being that every last one of his plans had required Tom there to enjoy it with him. That obviously was not going to happen, so he'd have to go with a much more boring (if safer) alternative.

He sighed gustily, fingering the vial of poison he had come across in Snape's personal storeroom when he had gotten exceptionally bored. Smiling in a particularly disturbing way had anyone been present to perceive it, Harry nearly skipped down the stairs when his aunt shrieked at him to make dinner. Soon it would be over. Soon they would be dead.

Humming merrily, Harry prepared their last meal.

**#Time Shift#**

The poison moved quickly, but he had miscalculated and Petunia collapsed after only a few bites, alerting the other four of the danger. Dursley Sr. immediately started bellowing in his annoying fashion, face turning purple in nearly no time at all. He was down in two minutes.

Dudley, his _darling_ cousin, panicked, having realized it was something in the food, but his dear fluffy-haired friend demanded more concern than the soon-to-be dead muggle when she asked very calmly what the bloody hell he thought he was doing. Hermione never cussed, so he knew that she had probably already figured it out but hadn't been prepared to be poisoned at Harry's home. Smiling his disconcerting smile, Harry turned to face her properly.

"Exactly as you suspect, 'Mione. You really are clever, so I have no doubt in my mind that you know exactly what's going on and why. Do tell dear Ronald for I do doubt that he has any clue what's going on or even his own name. You and Mrs. Weasley have to constantly remind him, after all." The bushy-haired witch nearly burst into tears, shakily explaining why their best friend was grinning like a maniac, while Ron stood there, looking as if Harry had just told him that he had just killed his puppy - shocked and confused. Anger would come, but it would be too late.

Harry barely had time to turn his head toward the sound of a sob before felt cold metal pierce his eye, tearing a scream from him as he jerked away from the blubbering muggle. The fool had tears running down his face (no doubt screwing up his aim) and was blubbering about his daddy and mummy as he proved his boxing prowess on Harry, who had momentarily gone into shock at the burning pain in his eye. Collapsing after Harry was knocked into a wall, Dudley finally took his last breath. The only reason the fat lug had lasted that long was because of his clogged arteries slowing down the poison. Bloody pain in the - Ron yelled in shock when Hermione fell, following her not long after. Their magic couldn't prevent their deaths any longer. Harry tried to still his hand long enough to remove the steak knife from his eye.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this!

One glazed, bottle green eye drifted over the once-spotless dining room. The other was hidden by his hand, tightly pressed to his face in an attempt to stem the blood flow. They were supposed to die with little fuss, just like good little puppets.

It was only seven o'clock. He would have to wait until at least midnight before he could use any magic - either to heal his injuries or clean up the mess. Getting rid of the bodies would be disturbingly easy if he took a leaf out of Barty Crouch, Jr.'s book and added his own touch, so he left them were they lay and only took the precaution of shutting all the curtains without anyone outside the house (had they been looking) see him. Even if someone had pried, they wouldn't see the evidence and the gore hadn't started to reek yet.

Stumbling up the stairs, Harry was careful to avoid jarring any of his injuries. The old bed he had been so generously allowed use was the only he could stand to use, so he carefully lowered himself onto its not-so-soft surface. It would suffice for now.

**#Time Shift#**

He had slept longer than he had intended and now it was five in the morning. Most of his bruises were healing nicely, but the body fluids caked on him were starting to itch. Standing carefully, Harry went and took a nice, long, hot shower before he began his work on his wounds.

There were three cuts on his left cheek, but they healed up perfectly when he directed his magic to them. His bruised ribs ceased their aching this way, too, as did his ankle, thigh, collarbone, elbow, and shoulder. Luckily they were just bruises or shallow cuts. No, the real problem would be his eye. He'd kill Dudley again if he had the chance, but he knew it was really his blunder. If he had gotten out of the room faster or maybe been more aware of his surroundings instead of dismissing Dudley as a lost cause, then he wouldn't have gotten hurt.

But they were dead now. It was pointless to linger over his victims. That would only get him caught.

What could he do about his eye? The tissues making up his eye were extremely fragile and if healed by his amateur attempts then they were more likely to heal incorrectly, possibly forever blinding him in that eye. He didn't want to end up as a cyclops, so instead he carefully put a bandage over the injured eye and dressed, swiftly shrinking his trunk that he had packed away everything into and headed downstairs where he transfigured the bodies into tiny charms. Conjuring a string, Harry strung them in a row, tying the necklace around his neck and tucking it under his shirt. He'd get rid of the little plastic jewelry pieces later, but now he had to leave. Casting a quick cleaning and freshening spell on the room in general, he left the house, locking the door behind him and chuckling softly. The only things left were to get someone to heal his eye and to find his Tom.

**#Location Shift#**

Apparating to Hogwarts was simple enough; he just hoped that Madam Pomfrey would accept his story without fuss. Swiftly making his way across the grounds and up to the Hospital Wing, Harry hoped he wouldn't have to do anything drastic. The mediwitch had always been so kind to him if a bit aggravating in her rigorous insistence that he go to the Headmaster about his ill treatment at the Dursleys'. Dumbles already knew, so it really would have been pointless and possibly even detrimental to the coot's image of the good, little boy who did what he was supposed to (in this case, allow his relatives to properly train him to be submissive to those with authority).

Knocking softly on the door frame to the mediwitch's office, Harry smiled tiredly at her shocked cry and easily allowed her to sit him down on the closest medical bed. She fussed, asking about how it happened, which he simply explained with the fact that his relatives had gotten carried away.

"Carried away?! They got a little more than just _carried away_! I'm almost shocked you escaped with your life, but then again you're always getting in and out of trouble. At least you'll never have to go back now. You're seventeen today, aren't you? Happy Birthday! I might even have a present for you in my office." Madam Pomfrey prattled on, making his smile widen just slightly. She had always been such a kind lady. "Hold completely still now. I'm going to cast the spell now." Obeying, Harry barely breathed as the soft blue light shot out of her wand into his uncovered, injured eye. After a moment, she relaxed with a smile, causing the dark-haired teen to mimic her. "There now. Just keep it covered for the next couple days and when you feel it's ready to be used again take off the bandage," the mediwitch instructed, wrapping said bandage around his head to cover his injured eye.

"Thanks, Madam Pomfrey. You have once again saved me." She beamed at him.

"Well, who else is going to? Speaking of, where are the two other troublemakers?" Holding back a wince at the mention of his two ex-best friends, Harry continued on innocently.

"Hermione and Ron? I'm supposed to meet them at the Leaky Cauldron at eight." She glanced at the clock, quickly hopping up and hurrying into her office.

"Well, then you'd better get moving or you'll be late! Here, let me get you that present." When she brought it out, he was struck speechless.

"You - It's - "

"Perfect for someone who keeps getting himself hurt." It was a thin bracelet with a multitude of small, smooth gems like pebbles settled in it. In reality, the gems were small compartments of healing potions. He couldn't help it. Once he secured the masterpiece on his wrist, he hugged her tight, making the elderly woman chuckle as she returned the hug.

"Thank you so much." Finally letting her go, he gave her a bright smile - the first real one since Sirius' death.

"It's the least I could do for you, dear. I _am_ sorry I can't tell you anything about Tom. Hufflepuffs and Slytherins don't get along very well, especially when they're younger."

"You've done more than enough, Aunt Poppy, really." Hugging her one more time, Harry bid her farewell, promising to visit sometime in the future. As she turned to return to her office, he regretfully obliviated their meeting from her mind. If or rather when the authorities figured out it was his fault, they would question everybody and he didn't want Pomfrey to be bothered too much. Luckily there were only a few teachers in Hogwarts, so he once again slipped through the halls unharrassed.

**#Location Shift#**

It was a dreary day in Little Haggleton, but that didn't bother Harry as he wandered around, looking for Riddle Manor. The locals he encountered thought him a little nutters, but pointed him in the right direction none-the-less when they found that he was a distant cousin coming to see the house. It hadn't changed at all in two years except for the fact that there were Muggle-repelling wards and the like. They wouldn't do a damn thing against him, though, so he easily made his way to the ivy-covered house on the hill, ignoring the graveyard in his peripheral vision.

The dust on the floor was irregular, preventing him from discerning anything useful. Feeling like he should head upstairs, Harry padded through the dust on silent feet, resisting the need to sneeze. It was more out of curiosity that he was here, but if someone was here he didn't want to alert them of his presence prematurely. Light flickered from the room at the end of the hall, drawing Harry to the half open door. Someone had lit a fire in the grate and that someone was probably sitting in the wing-backed chair before the fireplace. Harry could see one of their feet sticking out because they had their legs crossed.

Feeling as if he were in a dream (greatly helped along by the vision he had had of the very path in Fourth Year), Harry felt he was floating toward the chair, only coming back to his senses right before he stepped into sight of the sitting person. What was he doing? What if the person in the chair wasn't who he hoped it was? The person shifted, heaving a great sigh, and just by that Harry could tell that the person was male.

"Are you just going to stand there all day?" The not-so-mysterious person hissed, making Harry's knees go weak but he refused to reveal that to the other at this point.

"There aren't any other chairs - " Harry reasoned, making the other chuckle.

"Are you a wizard or not?" Mentally kicking himself, the dark-haired teen conjured a comfy chair just like those in the Gryffindor Common Room except black, taking a seat at the behest of the other. "You surprise me."

"Oh?" Blinking quickly in surprise, Harry cocked his head to the side, silently wishing that he had the courage to get up and find out if his suspicions on who was sitting in that chair were true, but something held him still.

"That's all you have to say?" He uncrossed his legs smoothly and Harry's eyes followed it as it disappeared behind the chair. Yes, this was definitely who he had hoped it was, but now the question was: how would the other react?

"What was I supposed to say? I thought you knew all about me." Sitting forward, Harry tried to gather up the strength to stand and find out what the other looked like. Even if he was as snaky as he had been the last time they met, he'd rather at least see him. So badly he wanted to see him, to touch -

"I only knew what Severus and Lucius have reported to me." Harry stifled a growl with difficulty. No wonder Voldemort hated him so much! He'd hate himself too if he were like that. Thankfully he hadn't ended up like his father or dogfather lest he have to '_Avada Kedavra_' **himself**.

"In other words, you think I'm a stuck-up brat who idealizes my parents and godfather." He couldn't keep the growl out of his voice and the other must have noticed, shifting in his seat.

"I did. You didn't exactly prove me wrong in our confrontations." Finally wrenching himself from his chair, Harry grabbed the side of the other chair and turned it to face him, slightly surprised red eyes locking with enraged green. A slight smirk tweaked Tom Riddle's lips when Harry's face flushed at the sight of his youthful body.

"I couldn't. The Imperio potion doesn't leave any room for fighting it," the green-eyed teen managed to mumble, looking away from piercing red eyes which moved from his face to trail appreciatively over his body.

"But you haven't been given your yearly dose because Severus is on the run." Standing slowly, Tom smiled coldly as he stalked around the stiff form of his prophesied doom. The switch to Parseltongue was almost imperceptible to the slightly shorter wizard's foggy mind. 'Which way do you choose to go? The path you have been set upon which the entire world expects you to trod?' He sneered, continuing to circle his prey. 'Or do you choose to forsake their beliefs and chase after a memory long dead?' Tom's hot breath washed over his ear, eliciting a shiver, then the older moved away and Harry had to repress a moan of loss. How long had he waited for this? How many times had he planned going Dark? Never would he have possibly thought of their meeting being like this.

'I have no intention of changing my mind now. Especially not after...' _Dead eyes staring up at him accusingly. Frizzy hair fanned out over his aunt's shiny linoleum. Dry lips parted - whether to forgive or condemn he'd never know._ A smooth hand on his cheek effectively evicting him from his memories. Soft red eyes searching his face as he tried to slow his breathing, to calm down. 'You're the only one who could - who can...' Shaking, Harry nods, eyes drifting half close, leaning into the soft hand still resting on his cheek.

"You've done something." Another nod and a weak hand pulling at his own collar, trying to pull out the tacky necklace. Strong, warm hand stops his failing attempts and successfully brings out the jewelry. "Ah. The Muggles and soon-to-be horcrux hunters? You've done well... Harry." Soft voice making verdant eyes focus on crimson. Hope sparking in green depths before being firmly squashed by a pessimistic voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Snape, but rekindled when hands cupped his face, bringing him closer to Tom. "Very well - well enough to be rewarded," he murmured before meeting the smaller wizards lips with his own.

Burning pleasure seared through them, down their link, through their bodies, causing Harry to grip Tom to keep himself steady. Wet muscle pressing against his lips, parting to allow it in. A meeting, slick muscle slipping over each other, moans rumbling from them both. Hands slipping from his face down to his hips, pulling him closer and drawing more moans. With great difficulty Tom detached his mouth from Harry's with a soft pop, nearly diving back in when he saw how his kitten had reacted to his reward. Gripping each other tightly, they swayed, knees weak from their clash.

**#Time and Location Shift#**

To say the world was surprised is a severe understatement. They were _floored_. Their Savior abandoned them for the other side. At least they were smart enough to give in after that. Then people started seeing how much better off everyone was with Voldemort ruling and settled down. 'Course I did help out a bit with telling them exactly _why _I went Dark.

The Death Eaters had accepted me with minimal fuss three years earlier when I joined as Voldemort's equal (and lover) - after I _Crucio'd_ Bellatrix for disrespecting me. I can still remember her writhing on the floor, blood gushing from her mouth and nose. No one disrespects me anymore. No one risks a double punishment.

The only bad thing about Voldemort ruling the world is that he has even less time for anything else - namely me. Even Severus has expressed his worry about my state of health, which has plummeted with my lack of Tom time, and Severus still distrusts me because of my parentage and previous encounters. Surely someone's told him about my declining health since I haven't seen him in months except in the papers.

Sighing in frustration at waking up to my lover still missing (his side of the bed wasn't even disturbed), I go take a long shower - try to scrub away my feeling of worthlessness. When I finally can't stand to be in the torrent of hot water any longer (that's quite a long time since I revel in showering as long as I damn well please), the whole bathroom is steamed up and, considering it's larger than the Dursley's whole first story, that takes a _lot_ of steam. I wrap a towel around my waist and pad over to the sinks, wiping off a portion of the mirror as I sigh sadly. With my entire being I wish that things hadn't gotten this far.

Then I look up into the mirror and see him staring at me over my shoulder, looking just as bad as I do. Whipping around, I am disappointed to find that it was only in my mind. I can't stop the sobs bubbling up in my throat, so I let them out, slumping against chilled tile, and sob my little black heart out.

When I finally pull myself together enough, I exit the bathroom, dropping the towel in the middle of the room as I head to my wardrobe on the other side of the room. Digging through my abundance of clothes, I can't find anything that I could possibly stand to wear. Everything reminds me of better times with Tom. Baring my teeth, I snarl and start pulling all of the clothes from their hooks and throw them about the room, feeling slightly better when they rip and tear. After shredding them all to bits with my bare hands, I collapse on the bed, glad for once that no one was there to see me come apart at the seams just as my expensive robes had not two minutes before.

I must have fallen asleep - or maybe died because now I feel as if I were in heaven. Soft, warm, and so very familiar hands knead and stroke my back. Maybe I did die because there's no possibly way that Tom is giving me a massage. Hissing in my ear causes my heart rate to speed up, goosebumps rise on my skin, pleasure shivers down my spine even as his apologies and promises stomp on that sore spot some call a heart. I rip from the haze that had descended over my logic at his presence and propel myself from his embrace.

"Don't lie to me! You swore all those things the day I came to you," I snarl, furious tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, blurring my sight.

"I did not mean to neglect you, ki - " Growling, I interrupt. I wouldn't be able to stand it if he called me kitten again. So many good times...

"But you did! You know what that does to me, but you allowed it to happen anyway!" Pulling back as if I had just slapped him, he looks truly hurt by my words.

"Harry," he starts, my first name on his lips sounding so strange. Has it really been that long since he has called me anything but kitten? "Harry," he tries again, "love, I have hurt you once again, but this was not intentional. It's still difficult at times to grasp that someone loves me and worries about me as you do. I'm trying desperately to come to terms with these truths and it took the human ice cube, Severus Snape, to make me realize them." Blushing, I duck my head. Maybe I shouldn't have vented in front of my old potions teacher.

"I didn't think he'd carry through with it," I mumble, biting my bottom lip to stall the urge to hunt down said potions bat and chew him out for revealing my secrets to Tom. What would happen now?

"I, on the other hand, am very happy he did." Snapping my head up to face him, I widen my eyes in shock at his relieved smile. "Who knows what would have happened had my thoughts on this matter not been jump-started by you ever so concerned Potions teacher? You could have gone mad with loneliness and despair without my beautiful self there to give your life purpose."

"You have been spending far too much time with the Malfoys," I drawl, heart jumping when his smug smirk shifts to an embarrassed grin.

"That obvious, was it?" With difficulty, I stifle a giggle and instead stonily reply.

"Very obvious. Besides, it is I who gives your life purpose." We both nod solemnly before busting out it laughter. Shivering slightly as he embraces me, I gasp softly. He's hugging me, cradling me against him softly.

"That's more true than you might realize." I can't help but scoff. His arms around me tighten, holding me to him as if I were going to disappear at any time. "I'm serious." I can't resist my next words.

"No, you're Tom." Chuckles rumbling in the chest I'm held to, Tom buries his face in my hair - the tall jerk.

"You know what I mean," he mumbles, but I hear him. His touch melts away every negative feeling toward him. There's no defense against him - not for me. "I'm really am sorry." Finally, I lift my hands, wrapping my arms around him.

"I know, Tom, and I've already forgiven you."

Fin


End file.
